


Fragmented

by HarcourtHolmesII



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abandonment, Adult Content, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Remus being Remus, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Humor, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Trauma, Verbal Abuse, Violence, more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarcourtHolmesII/pseuds/HarcourtHolmesII
Summary: When King Romulus died, a great rift was created between his Sides. Without the bridge, Thomas' Mindscape was torn between Light and Dark, Remus and Roman at each other's throats, and torn apart by cruel circumstances. Without the other, they are only a piece of the puzzle, incomplete and without clear vision.When a connection to the old King is discovered, Thomas' Mindscape is thrown into chaos as the Sides question everything they have come to be. Questions are raised, relationships are tested and existence is twisted. Does the King have a place alongside Thomas anymore? What if he does?And what if he doesn't?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Paradise Lost

How long?

How much time did he have left?

A splitting headache pierced through his mind, like a thousand tiny needles threading through his brain matter and- No. He needed to stop that train of thought. But the more he grew exhausted, the more his mind wandered. And the more his mind wandered, more unwanted thoughts began to hound him.

He thought he had been doing better. He had been so certain, but no matter his attempts, it seemed the world around him had a different plans.

He stood from behind his desk, strolling over to his window to glance about outside, onto what was left of his realm. His world was crumbling around him; medieval villages and futuristic cityscapes left in ruins as his influence waned. The loss of life, as imaginary as all the characters and creatures may have been, had all hit him just as a death of a close friend, but on repeat. All wounds as fresh as the last.

He could see how his day and night cycle had been halted, the sun and moon were paused together in the sky, creating an unusual but uncomfortable picture. What was due to come? Would he be ‘present’ still, or just cease to be? Would he even be remembered?

And what about who came after? None of the other Sides had ever experienced anything like this before, but Creativity couldn’t be dead. Not after this, surely. Logan had informed him that his being gone would likely result in a Split of his personality and ideas, creating two very new forms. Logan compared it to the splitting of an ovum and the creation of twins.

“Romulus?”

The King of Creativity turned to greet his guest, eyes landing on Morality, or Patton as he preferred to be called. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes down to his shoes like a child regretful of a silly mistake. It was an image unbecoming of Patton, a father as he liked to claim, to act like a child, but Romulus didn’t hold it against him. Now was a trying time for all of them.

“Is it time, Patton?” Please, just end the waiting. End this torment. He couldn’t stand looking upon his world, his _home_ , in such devastation, and with the knowledge that his existence was coming to an end. He had kept strong for so long, acting as if the world deteriorating didn’t cause him such anguish that would normally fell him to his knees.

“A-Almost…”

Damn it.

He swallowed around a heavy lump in his throat, the weight heavily sliding down and into his chest, resting upon his heart. He blinked back a tear. He wasn’t breaking now.

“Why are you here, then?” He questioned, watching with caution as Patton stepped towards him. He fought the urge to back up, not wanting to allow the Moral Side to see how weak he really was. A weakness brought upon him by the fatherly Side.

“I wanted to be here when it happens.” He closed the distance, gently taking Romulus’ hand, the King tensing so as not to snatch his hand away. It wasn’t all Patton’s fault. The upbringing of their host, Thomas, and his faith was what had caused all of this. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but he just wished that he could remain. He could fight back his darker thoughts, like he had… attempted many times… and failed…

“I did request privacy.”

“I know, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you alone, Romulus. Not like… This.” He gestured to the world outside the castle. The white dirt where a rise of emerald meadows should have been, the thin, white branches of the thorny brambles and ivy that clung tight to the castle brick and to the cities, now just phantom locations of the life they once held.

Patton’s hand was warm. It burned.

“Will you look after them?”

“Pardon?”

“Me, or, what comes after me.” He said, turning his amber-orange eyes down to Patton’s baby-blues. “I want to know that they or whatever _it_ is that comes after will be looked after.”

“Yes. I’ll make sure of it.”

The splitting headache had returned. He raised his free hand to his head, his fingers running through his dark hair. Patton’s eyes followed his ministrations, eyes widening and beginning to brim with tears as they focussed on his hair and then his face.

“You’re changing.”

Romulus’ eyes awkwardly and painfully turned up to his fringe, and how it was starting to turn grey. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes were changing too, his left darkening to a warm brown, whilst the right sunk in ever so slightly, and with a blink, the iris had warped to a silver, emerald flecks floating within the ring. Staring down at his hands, his flesh was changing too, his right hand turning pallid and sickly white. He felt his heart beginning to race in his chest, Patton gripping over his own heart as he felt Romulus’ panic.

“It’s going to be okay.” He tried to comfort, but the splitting in Romulus’ skull was deafening. The walls around them groaned, brick dust and tiny fragments of stone raining down upon them both.

He couldn’t stand any longer. He collapsed to his knees, gritting his teeth tightly, resisting the urge to just let himself fall apart at the seams. He could almost feel his body splitting entirely down the middle, his world growing in size around him as Patton knelt beside him, trying to talk to him. To soothe him. He was splitting.

“You’ll be alright, Romulus. Just breathe.” It was obvious that Patton was just as horrified, if not more so than Romulus. His world was underwater, his vision swimming and the sound of Patton’s broken cries muting. He could feel the floor of his castle give way beneath them, eyes widening, streaming with tears, as he watched as Patton, still perched on what was the study floor, falling away into the sky above him. He was plummeting. But it was as if every second was drawn out, to allow him to split before he even hit the floor. Debris cut him on his way down, he was twisting his body right- No… Left? He was seeing double, how there were now two Pattons, in perfect synchronisation reaching out for his falling body.

“ROMULUS!”

He hit the floor below with two, heavy thuds.


	2. Through The Looking Glass

‘DO YOU REMEMBER ME?’

Remus would hardly consider the question or how it was phrased an issue. He had never been one to get offended, concerned or disgusted easily. Hell, he was the Duke after all, and all intrusive and mature thoughts were his domain. It took a lot to get to him.

The question was not exactly threatening, and neither was the fact that Remus had seen this question drawn many times before. He had found it once in his sketch book after he had a mental blank, and once again, drawn into the dirt after he passed out from his failed invasion of Roman’s territory. No, he had never really been concerned with it.

Not until now.

He looked between the pair of scissors in his hands and the scratched message in his full-length mirror. It was cut deep into the glass, uneven and unnervingly cryptic. The scissors had been worn down to a blunt edge, Remus’ hands aching with strain. His hand was shaking, bruising and locking up from what he had apparently done. His mind had trailed off, lost in thought. It couldn’t have been too long, certainly not any more than a few seconds, but in that time he had all but blunted his scissors down to half their size, and marred a good portion of his already chipped mirror.

Attempting to will away the writing proved fruitless, as it had been a mark made in their ‘physical’ Mindscape, and not something conjured. He just didn’t understand. Sure, Dee-Dee had been telling him he had been having some quiet episodes, where he seemed completely out of it. ‘Mindless’ and ‘highly suggestible’ was what Janus told him, and Remus trusted his scaled friend not to abuse this state.

What was happening to him?

Was he drunk? Could Sides even get drunk? He would have to test that theory. He was sure Logan would be proud of him for experimenting.

His thoughts turned back to the writing on the mirror, and how his hand was outstretched towards it. He let his fingers gently trace the sharp abrasions in the glass surface, trying to just wrap his mind around it and what it was doing there in the first place. He had blissfully ignored all of the previous questions, scrapping the paper from his book and brushing the dirt away, but this wasn’t the same thing.

Well, it could be gotten rid of. Smashing the mirror was not exactly off the table, but whatever was doing this, he wasn’t entirely certain if ignoring it was the best course of action. It shook him that he was even considering giving this… _whatever_ , even a moment of thought, but he couldn’t just keep overlooking these episodes forever. What if it got worse? It would be cool to see what he would do next, but he didn’t want to wake up from an episode having carved the question into Janus’ face.

He couldn’t be certain how long he was staring at the mirror, but it was long enough that Janus had deemed it a good idea to check on him. There was a polite knock on the door, Remus’ eyes turning to peer over at the chipped and stained wood of his door. Stains that probably should have been cleaned off a while ago added ‘character’, he would like to argue. Within the past few months though, with Janus making periodic trips to the Light side, Remus had felt the urge to do more for Janus, including cleaning his room and his door for him so the other wouldn’t be so disgusted upon entering.

“Remus.” His smooth voice cut through the Duke’s mind, pulling his attention back to the other’s immediate presence outside the door. “Are you _not_ alright? You’ve been in there for some time and I haven’t heard something smash yet.”

He knew him too well.

“I’m fine, Dee. Just…” He glanced back to his mess of a mirror, and the room surrounding him. He skipped over, leaping across his bed like a feline, landing in front of the door and opening it wide, being sure to put himself between Janus and the view of his mirror. Didn’t need to worry his poor head off! For good measure, he tucked the blunted scissors behind his back, their cold weight heavy in his hand.

“I was just thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“I know.” He chuckled, returning the quote as easily as the other had started it. The two of them shared a smile, Remus feeling something in his shrivelled heart stir. It felt as if someone was playing his heartstrings like a fucking harp, plucking them ever so softly. He wondered if a heart like that would spray a small mist of blood every time it was plucked. He shook his head of the thought.

“Can I help you with anything, J-Anus?” The other cringed at the use of the nickname, Remus biting the inside of his lip. That was probably not the best thing to say. Especially when the other had come looking for him out of concern.

“I was wondering if you were okay… You entered one of your episodes a couple of minutes ago and I hadn’t heard much from you for a while. Thought I should check and make sure you _did_ hurt yourself.”

“Well, I’m fine so…” He trailed off, trying to encourage Janus to leave. He didn’t want the other gone, in fact he took some comfort in knowing the other cared, but he didn’t particularly wish to introduce Janus to what he had been doing during his episodes. He had no doubt it would freak the other out. And the other didn’t need the stress.

“If you’re _not_ sure…” Janus conceded, peering over the other with something akin to concern in his human features. The reptilian side looked as stoic as ever. “Well, I’m supposed to _not_ go and see Patton and Logan about Thomas’ mental health. Will you be okay _not_ on your own?”

He knew it was in Janus’ nature to lie, little fibs and tricks slipping free from his lips even without his consent. But even that little fib had Remus on edge. He hated being left alone, always had ever since… But now, the idea that he wasn’t as alone as he thought caused a stir in his gut. It made him want to throw up, and he knew Janus wouldn’t like to have his shoes ruined. He swallowed down his bile, offering a wolfish grin that strained taut against his cheeks.

“Of course! No need to worry about little ol’ me, Dee.” Remus forced himself to believe it. He wanted to believe it. He didn’t need Janus picking up on his lies. It seemed to work, Janus offering him a polite smile in return, and bowing his head ever so slightly. He turned, making his way down the corridor to the common room as to begin sinking out.

Remus shut his door immediately, taking a minute to focus on his racing heart, eyes turning back to the mirror’s surface. Was there a poltergeist possessing him? No… Janus made him swear never to bring creations from the Imagination back into the Dark common room. Threatened him with the worst act of violence he could think of- a bath. Sure, Remus was hardly terrified of being in the buff, in fact he regularly forgot about wearing his clothes to the common room. Virgil’s horrified eyes and the urges Remus could feel Virgil had (something akin to gouging his eyes out with whatever cutlery was in hand) made him laugh aloud, whilst Janus’ obvious embarrassment made something warm tickle Remus’ heart.

But a bath… Ew.

Focus, Remus. Focus on the problem at hand.

He rounded his bed, approaching the mirror once more, feeling how his entire form was trembling uncontrollably. They were just words! Why was he acting so terrified? He could feel a pressure behind his eyelids, burning and hot in the front of his brain. Like a thousand needles threading through his grey matter and piercing every nerve firing off in his skull. It felt familiar.

He watched as his hand raised of its own accord, feeling his throat run dry. He took a breath, letting his body act on its own accord. He didn’t fight it. The hand raised and began carving, slow and deliberate, as if it had a mind of its own. The words were not as obviously defined in the glass once his hand returned to his side, but the message was still as clear as day.

‘YOU’RE SAFE WITH ME.’

Somehow, Remus felt otherwise.

‘YOU’RE NOT ALONE ANYMORE.’

He grit his teeth, hand on the scissors clenching so tight he could feel how his muscles were beginning to cramp up. He felt the urge to let go, and just as he relaxed, his hand rose again, reaching forward to scratch at the mirror.

The sentence that had been etched there was nothing like the previous ones. It wasn’t as cryptic or obviously creepy, but this one hit him harder than any of the previous messages. He felt his whole world spinning, dizzily as his sight focussed in on the words that stared back at him. It wasn’t threatening, but it left Remus feeling scared. Even more so than his disturbed night terrors and horrific day-mares.

‘YOU KNOW ME, DON’T YOU?’

He reached up to the crown of the mirror, forcefully pulling it to the floor, smashing it into a thousand pieces, glass spraying out over his carpet in a halo around it. Even now, it did little to kerb his fear. His hand relaxed, releasing the scissors and letting them fall to the floor. Something wet brimmed at the edges of his vision, Remus wiping it away as quickly as it came. Remus had never been one to cry. There was only one conclusion to this odd circumstance.

Just like how those words were not his; these were not his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Do let me know what you think!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Harcourt Holmes II.


	3. Wuthering Heights

“REMUS, STOP!”

He blinked away the dark that clouded his vision, the fog rolling back and away behind his eyes, revealing the Dark side common room, and Janus’ worried and fearful face staring up at him from where he was pinned beneath Remus’ hands. He felt his heart constrict behind his rib cage, feeling it trying to leap out of his throat like a violent bullfrog. The two of them were on the floor, Remus’ hands holding the deceitful Side down by his shoulders, Janus laying on the floor of the common room. His bowler hat had rolled away under the coffee table, his gloved hands on Remus’ wrists as if trying to push him off.

Remus leapt back, landing on his ass, eyes widening as the other continued to lay there for a few moments. When he moved at last, as slow as it was, Remus felt relief wash over his form. What he didn’t expect was for the other to sit up and scoot closer, raising a hand to gently rest on Remus’ shoulder. He flinched away from his touch, but calmed down as the other just carefully rested a hand there; a soothing heat ebbed out from where it was placed.

“Are you alright?” He almost laughed at that.

“Me? You were the one that looked like you were about to be-…” He cut himself off, biting his lip until it bled. He lapped up the liquid, tasting iron, trying to focus on that. “You were the one that just got attacked.”

Janus rounded him, remaining on his knees as he came to face Remus properly, raising both of his hands to his pale cheeks and swiping under his eyes. Remus didn’t even notice the tears until the damp appeared on the other’s gloves.

He didn’t cry.

“What did I do?”

“Well, Remus… You sort of _didn’t_ have a breakdown.” He said, and for a moment there was silence between them as Remus just gave his friend a glare, suggesting he needed more than that. “It is _not_ hard to explain. I didn’t see how it started, but I returned to _not_ see you on the lounge, almost…”

“Almost?”

Janus was hesitant, something that was very rare for the deceptive Side. He always had confidence in what he was saying unless it was something private or seemingly forbidden. Giving his name, as an example, was reason enough for him to be cautious, but what had Remus been doing that was causing him such trouble?

“You were almost fighting yourself.”

“What?”

“I saw you striking yourself across the face, biting your fingers and kicking your legs like something was attacking you. Except you were only hurting yourself…”

Well, that wasn’t ominous in the slightest. If it had been anyone else, Remus would have probably be morbidly curious. He probably would have wished to prod and probe them, ask them really insensitive questions and jump on the opportunity to make popcorn so he could watch. It was a horrific idea, but he wasn’t exactly sane.

But in this case… He hurt Janus. It was _him_ that was suffering this. It was him that had Janus pinned and had been hurting himself. He could feel the burn in his cheeks, but he genuinely couldn’t tell if it was from shame, embarrassment or from the blows he had been dealing to himself in his episode. He felt sick to his stomach.

He lifted his fingers in front of his face. His first thought was that they looked awesome and creepy. He was in awe of how there were obvious divots in his skin, where his skin was present. It seemed he had bitten down on his left thumb enough to break skin, as blood flowed freely from a deep wound made over the knuckle. If he looked close enough, he could almost trick himself into seeing the bone. Or maybe it wasn’t a trick. Maybe it was actually his knuckle.

Then he actually wretched. Janus backed up quickly to allow the other to lean forward from his place on the floor, Intrusive Thoughts mouth open but dry as he hacked and his body wracked with sobs and the urge to vomit. Nothing came up. It hurt. He raised his uninjured hand to his throat, trying to soothe what pain he felt, feeling another horrid ache cut through his skull.

It was that same damned feeling of needles in his brain, a failed acupuncture of his cerebrum that instead of relaxing him caused him to squint his eyes tight in pain. He blinked back that dark fog that threatened to roll back over his vision. Hell no! He wasn’t letting it happen again.

“Remus?”

He couldn’t answer. He was focussing. He couldn’t be distracted. If he got distracted, whatever it was could come back. He wouldn’t dare let it happen again. His nails dug into the carpet, threatening to break his nails as he wretched once more. His whole body writhed like that transformation scene from ‘An American Werewolf In London’. It would be cool if he wasn’t in such agony. He felt that hand return to his back, running soothing circles a little above the base of his spine, running up and down his vertebrae, encouraging him to release the bile.

“Do you want to go and talk to the others about this?”

“NO!” He felt that hand flinch back, biting back a whine. He liked having the other’s hand there, making him warm and helping his body to relax. “Please. Don’t tell the others. I can’t… I don’t want them to know.”

“They will have to know at some point.” The other returned his hand to Remus’ back. “But I won’t tell them for now. I would rather _not_ wait until you are willing to talk to them.” Remus had never been more thankful for the other’s patience.

After a long few minutes, he felt his muscles relax, the stinging behind his eyes ebbing away to a faint twinge. His eyes opened slowly, lazily, after some time of being scrunched up from pain. He sat up, allowing Janus’ six hands to envelop and wrap him up, bringing him close. His head was rested against the other’s chest, hearing the beating of his heart. It must have been a really pretty heart. Red, and oozing with healthy blood… Stop. No. Don’t think about it. Just…

“Relax.”

He did as Janus told him to, feeling himself go soft and slack against Deceit’s form, heavily pressing against the other. The other took his weight easily, Remus could almost feel that smile that stretched across the human half of Janus’ face.

“You didn’t hurt me, Remus.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I believe that.”

“I don’t try to lie to you, Remus. You know that.” He did. He knew the other fought to stop himself from lying as much as he did, but still, after what he had just seen and felt, he sincerely doubted Janus’ words. “I swear to you, Remus, you _did_ hurt- did not hurt me.”

“What did I do, then?” He turned to sit up in Janus’ arms, looking at him with those wide, terrified eyes Janus hadn’t seen in two decades. “I had you on the floor. You were trapped. I could have done anything to you…”

“But you didn’t.” Janus’ highest left hand rose, fingers brushing back Remus’ white fringe. “I had never seen you in such a state before, Remus, but when I walked up to you to talk to you, maybe try to snap you out of it…” He stopped himself, eyes twitching in such a way that proved he was thinking about his words carefully.

“You looked at me and… Well, you practically jumped on me.” He chuckled; the sound was strained. When Remus didn’t return the laughter, Janus’ face turned serious. “You started crying and started rambling. I couldn’t catch much of what you said-”

“What did I say?” He hesitated again.

“You said ‘don’t put me back’, ‘help me’, and…”

“And?”

“And… You said… ‘I don’t want to go. D-’…” Janus stopped for a moment, swallowing thickly and taking a moment to prepare himself.

“You said ‘Deceit’…” He never called Janus that to his face. He refused to use those names to the others once he knew their names.

“It’s Romulus’.”

…

“Who is Romulus?”

There were tears in Janus’ eyes, the other opening his mouth but coming up mute. Remus waited with bated breath. He had never heard of Romulus.

“A friend.”

That was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Sorry I have not updated this story in a while, I was without internet for about a week.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Harcourt Holmes II.


	4. The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde

It was warm.

How odd.

It was never warm here. It was never even cold. Was it ever anything?

There was the rustle of bed sheets, the feeling of rough cloth and satin beneath his fingertips. What was this? Where was he?

His world was still black, no way up or down, but he could feel himself no longer adrift in a vast ocean. He was no longer weightless, in fact, attempting to raise his limbs, he felt something hard come down onto his cheek. His arm had fallen slack. How?

A burning sensation ebbed out from the point of impact, and slowly, he went to raise his arm again, feeling his hand lay flat on his face. He tried to gently soothe his bruising, feeling his eyes scrunch up. Oh. That was why he was still blind.

He still didn’t get it.

He hadn’t needed to open his eyes before. The eyes were always open for him. He couldn’t be certain as to how long it had been, but the last time he had been ‘awake’ he could remember seeing _his_ face. He hadn’t changed a bit. It was strange, considering the time before he had seen what had become of him.

Seeing himself in that chipped mirror, pale white skin with those evil eyes and manic grin, it was no wonder why he had been forced to split. He could only assume this was his negative half everything bad about him and everything to avoid according to Morality. The over the top costume, the white streak in his fringe and the smell of something dying…

Wait.

With effort, he turned his head, sniffing at the sheets and holding back a wretch. What on Earth possessed his… ‘offspring’ to sleep in such a state? He felt his eyes crack open, slowly but surely, revealing the ceiling high above his head, a dark grey in contrast to the pitch black walls surrounding him. The bed he was laying on was huge, but more akin to a nest with the mess of blankets, pillows and towels surrounding him. He cringed to think as to why the towels were there.

However, his mind turned back to his current… predicament? No. This was good. A good thing. Previously he had only been able to see and hear things through the eyes of his ‘host’, and then he had been able to do small gestures and actions. But now he could sit up. Now he could put his feet on the floor and wal-

Okay.

Maybe no walking just yet.

He felt the excruciating pain of his chin hitting the floor, his body a limp sack of flesh and bones, unable to move with the ease it should have. Guess he just had to get used to it. After all, maybe he could finally talk to someone! Maybe he wouldn’t have his messages or words ignored by his ‘host’.

It was hard to pull himself to his feet. In fact, trying to manoeuvre them under his weight just caused him to tumble back onto his arse. It was undignified, but for now, he would have to get used to moving. Maybe just start by crawling. On hands and knees, he moved forward carefully, trying his best to keep his head up so he could see where he was going. With how heavy everything seemed to be, it was bizarre. He was so used to drifting about in nothing everything hurt and everything was a trial.

It was some time before he had crawled his way over to the desk; a large, mahogany obstruction with dozens of papers strewn about. Using his hand, he pushed away papers to uncover more and more, from drawings of horrific locales, to paintings he was pretty certain were made from blood. The smell of iron supported his theory.

What the Hell was wrong with him?

It made sense, though, that he would end up in the Dark side of the Mindscape. There was no way a… creature like this would be accepted by Thomas. And understandably so. This was disgusting and all things nightmarish. He felt burning bile rise in the back of his throat, swallowing it down and clasping a piece of ‘artwork’ in his hands shakily. It took him a moment, feeling a twinge in the back of his mind. It was soft, almost inaudible, but there was the slightest voice somewhere deep in his skull. He ignored it.

It was a satisfying sound, the paper tearing perfectly down the middle and falling to the floor. It was delightful. He grabbed another page and tore through it once again. He felt a smile etch its way across his face, his lips pulling taut over his unusually sharp teeth.

Rip.

Tear.

Cut.

Lacerate.

Slash.

He continued until there were no papers left in one piece, and then continued further, pulling them apart into white threads of confetti. The smell of blood and paint was still in the air, but he cared little for it. The feeling of pulling something apart caused a sort of joy to stir in his heart.

“Remus?”

He felt his ears burning, turning his head in time to see _him_ standing in the doorway, eye wide with concern. Just the way he remembered him. That smile that had stretched its way across his face, fell into something much kinder. Something softer. Yellow eyes pierced his own, and with a sense of urgency, he pushed himself to his feet. He felt his world take a sharp dive and right as he was falling to the floor he felt three pairs of arms around his waist and shoulders, preventing him from hitting the carpet.

“Are you alright?”

God… That voice, not directed at his ‘host’ but at him. A heat swelled deep within his chest, something he had not felt in at least two decades. He turned his eyes up to Deceit’s, their noses near touching from how close the two of them were. He swallowed thickly around a stone, hoping to force it down so that he might speak. He opened his mouth, hearing only a slight wisp of air escape his lungs. Damn it!

“Why would you do that to your work? You love your drawings.” His voice was right by his ear, calm and as smooth as ever. Come on… Stupid vocal chords… Work!

“I…” There! That was something!

“Remus?”

He shook his head in response, raising his hands to wrap them over Deceit’s shoulders, trying to heft himself up and closer to the other. Deceit pulled back, helping him into a proper standing position. He awkwardly placed his feet, toes pointed inwards, trying to stand.

“No…”

“No?”

“Not Remus.” Deceit’s eyes searched his features, trying to understand him and what he was saying. It probably didn’t make much sense but he was trying here. It took him a lot to even say that!

“W-What are you talking about?”

…

“I’m Romulus.”

Those eyes widened in response, recognition passing through Deceit as he shook. No way. Not again. Remus had to be having one of his episodes again. It couldn’t be…

“I’ve missed you so.” He felt himself fall forward, this time of his own will, back into Deceit’s arms, pushing forward into his space. There was a connection. He felt how he had begun to drift, but it was not the same weightless abyss he knew. No. It was warm and welcoming. This was an old feeling. One he had missed more than anything else. And it seemed the same for Deceit.

His lips were just as soft as Romulus remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Harcourt Holmes II.


	5. The Shining

The stares were becoming bothersome. The warmth and flavour of his tea, something he had nearly forgotten in his time away, wasn’t enough of a distraction from all of the eyes on him.

Sitting in the Light side common room was so strange, as Romulus never bothered to really enter into it, preferring the Imagination when it was still _his_. Where he could control everything, and create anything, he felt safe and at home. Sitting on the lounge, in a body that was not his (not really), and sipping tea that he had not tasted in decades was so surreal. The same could be said, it seemed, to the other Sides.

Roman, his other half and the good Side of Creativity, sat beside him, quietly watching every movement he made. Considering what Romulus had seen through Remus’ eyes, this was quite uncharacteristic of him.

Patton, Logan and Janus stood opposite them, Patton still in a state of absolute shock, Romulus wasn’t certain that he had moved or even taken a breath in several minutes. Virgil sat on the stairs behind them, eyes squinted and focussed on Romulus and Janus with suspicion. Logan was humming, on finger on his chin, as he was no doubt attempting to come to a conclusion as to what was happening.

Deceit hadn’t looked at him since they had entered into the common room. There was a harsh pull on Romulus’ heart, as if tugging it down and out of place. It was probably just his nerves. As much as he was trying to play it off, the others looking at him in such confusion and shock was causing him some discomfort. And with Deceit looking the other way…

He didn’t mean to cause the half, reptilian Side any strife, but he had missed him dearly, always having him within sight and able to hear his smooth voice, but unable to reach out and touch him like he used to. Their kiss had been short, and it did little to sate Romulus’ hunger for him. When the other just quietly pushed him off and told him he was taking Romulus to see the others, he felt a sting in his chest. There was a tug on the back of his mind, but he ignored it for the sake of following Deceit, slowly and clumsily, to the Dark side common room and then sinking out to the Light side.

“I understand.” Romulus perked his head up from his tea to meet eyes with Logan, the Logical Side stepping closer and taking a seat on the lounge beside him. Roman shifted uncomfortably on Romulus’ left, a little too close for comfort in Romulus’ case.

“What is it, Logan? How is… Romulus… Here?”

“Well, it’s actually quite simple if you think about it.” Every Side would usually roll their eyes at this proclamation, but were much too intrigued to do so. “Roman, you’ve never had anything similar happen to you, despite the fact you are the other half of Creativity.”

“No.”

“Have you had any thoughts on Romulus since we told you about him?”

Roman bit his lip, looking a little sheepish. “Well, yes. He came to mind from time to time. I couldn’t really help it.”

“Exactly. Remus had never been told about Romulus, but he experiences Thomas’, and by extension everyone one of our, intrusive thoughts. The thought of Romulus in your head must have connected him to Remus.”

“But,” Romulus spoke up, “I have always been able to see and hear what they experience.” He said, gesturing to Roman beside him.

“Well, of that I have no doubt. You were the original Creativity, it would make sense that when you Split,” Romulus cringed at the word, “a part of you remained present in both of them.”

“But then, why now?” Patton had finally seemed to respond to something. “And why Remus? Why not Roman or both of them?”

“Intrusive Thoughts, for the individual Side- or Thomas- are, in most cases, brief, and are shrugged off, so to speak. Remus,” he gestured to where Romulus sat, “can’t do that, because he _is_ Intrusive Thought. He is forced to hold on to every thought that no one of us wants, and the more we, as our individual selves, think about something, the more likely he is to bring it up. Or in this case, be possessed by it.”

“But that still doesn’t make sense as to why Romulus would suddenly take over Remus’ body.”

“Actually, as the second half of Creativity, it makes perfect sense. The more our thoughts affected him, the more intrusive our thoughts became, and with Roman’s knowledge, I have no doubt that was what gave Romulus the power to eventually possess him, especially since he would arguably be drawing from the same well of ‘power’ that Remus does.”

“As in…?” Virgil questioned, dark gaze fixed on Romulus.

“Remus, to an extent, re-created him.”

…

“And given more time, he might be able to actually give you a physical form that is not his own.”

There was a long stretch of silence following that last line. It seemed no one was certain how to react, each of them looking between each other, Deceit’s gaze finally meeting his. There was something off about Deceit’s eyes and how they seemed more… confused than anything else. But that didn’t make sense. Logan had explained it, so why would he be confused.

Suddenly, there was a bombardment from Morality, as the fatherly side tackled Romulus back into the couch cushions. Tears were in his eyes as he buried his face in Romulus’ chest, having started to yell a long string of words that Romulus couldn’t decipher. Roman, resting a hand on Patton’s shoulder to calm him, cleared his throat to get his attention.

“You are the king?”

He felt a swell of pride in his chest.

“I was.”

“Can you teach me more about the Imagination? I would love to know of any tricks that I can use to create things, and who better to teach me but the original!”

A hand was rested on Romulus’ shoulder, Logan giving him an awkward smile that suited a face that rarely bore a grin. “It is good to have you back.”

The welcoming responses from the Sides once the initial shock was over was a comfort he never expected to feel again. Patton’s hug, Logan’s curious questions about his experiences during the Split, Roman’s excitable chatter… Before, Romulus would have sought peace and solitude in his castle in the Imagination, but this was a welcome change to that horrid isolation he had been trapped with for the last twenty years.

Virgil, from where he remained on the stairs, eyed Janus, who seemed to still be rather uncomfortable with the entire situation. He had noticed Janus becoming anxious in recent memory, but he had cared little for the Dark Side’s mental well-being. However, seeing how Janus’ eyes were locked on Romulus, he couldn’t help but feel the confusion, the fear and the frustration broiling within Janus’ psyche.

He didn’t like that feeling.

Out of all the Sides, Janus had arguably lost the most when Romulus had Split, granting him his solitude despite how obviously it was killing him inside not to be there. Virgil had watched him as Janus sat there on the lounge in the common room, eyes to the floor. He had felt the anger that he was using to hide his anguish, making his blood boil rather than wallow in his upset.

When the other couldn’t stand it anymore, he had been too late. Janus, after having been gone for only an hour of time in the Imagination, had returned, hand in hand with a child similar to Thomas’ age. The look that he kept on his face had remained blank, and the speech he used was very mature as he addressed ‘Remus’ and told him about his place in the Dark side.

Virgil could recall how, for the longest time, Janus refused to properly acknowledge Remus’ place in the Dark side of the Mindscape. Remus would go to him with pictures he drew, paintings made from blood and sketches of horrid mutilations and scenes that would make any adult blush. Within a year, Remus had grown from eight year old child to an adult, to suit the ages of his fellow Sides. In that year, Janus had done little to acknowledge him, and Virgil was one that sought his own privacy. Speaking to Remus had always been grating or disgusting so he never tried to engage him.

At some point, however, after Janus had entered the Imagination to collect Remus for a ‘meeting’, it seemed the dark Side had done a complete 180, talking in-depth with Remus upon their return. It had shocked Virgil to no end that, despite Janus’ apparent hatred for the second half of Creativity, spending less than an hour in the Imagination with him after a year of ignoring him, had made them best friends.

Since then, the two of them had been near inseparable. They had an obvious fondness for each other that made Virgil gag, but so long as they were bothering each other and not him, he had not cared.

Now though, seeing that scared look in Janus’ eyes, Virgil couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong with this whole situation. Despite the delight of the other Sides and their questions, their ‘I missed you’ statements and so forth, something was off about this. And Janus’ anxiety was palpable and suffocating.

Unlike Janus and Virgil, Romulus was having the time of his life. Being apart from his old friends and away from his home had him truly thinking it was a mistake to separate himself from the others as he had done before he Split. Now, he could be with them whenever he wanted, and it was perfect.

The itching in the back of his skull, the feeling of a needle piercing his mind grew numb. It was wonderful, and empty.

His mind was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Harcourt Holmes II.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first chapter to Fragmented. I hope you enjoyed it! I hope to have the second chapter up soon!
> 
> Feel free to check out my Tumblr as well, for slightly earlier updates and my artwork, if you want!  
> [harcourtholmesii.](https://harcourtholmesii.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Harcourt Holmes II.


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